


these few desperate hours

by It-is-the-Hannah (carry_on_my_wayward_outcasts)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Hopeful Ending, Inspired by Art, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not a lot of comfort, The Hunt, everyone is alive at the end of it and they're going to stop the apocalypse, self-sacrificial jon, they find Daisy and it goes Bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carry_on_my_wayward_outcasts/pseuds/It-is-the-Hannah
Summary: "There is so much blood.It is shockingly red, more colorful than anything in this domain of camouflage and hidden predators, and Martin hysterically thinks that it is almost pretty, the way it contrasts with the greys and browns of the ground, the way it stains the beaten-down jeans and overshirt where it has been so brutally torn. Martin’s going to have to mend that shirt, now-- "They find Daisy. It goes poorly.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an angsty little piece inspired by [this amazing art](https://speakerunfolding.tumblr.com/post/624716815117991936/me-hiatus-is-fine-i-will-think-about-other) by speakerunfolding on tumblr (go check them out!)
> 
> General warnings for depictions of blood and injury, and also a general note that I am pathologically incapable of killing anyone in my fics at the moment so DON'T WORRY THEY'RE GOING TO BE FINE (by apocalypse standards)

There is so much blood.

It is shockingly red, more colorful than anything in this domain of camouflage and hidden predators, and Martin hysterically thinks that it is almost pretty, the way it contrasts with the greys and browns of the ground, the way it stains the beaten-down jeans and overshirt where it has been so brutally torn. Martin’s going to have to mend that shirt, now-- he had found a sewing kit in the cabin and brought it along, not really sure if it would be needed but wanting to be as prepared as possible. He hadn’t brought anything that will get the stain out. He hopes Jon won’t mind, Martin knows he likes that shirt, but really, it’s so dirty already from who-knows-how-long spent traipsing through the apocalypse that a little blood won’t make much of a difference, anyway.

Though that really is quite a lot of blood.

“Martin!” Basira’s voice is sharp, a thundering crack in the quiet of the forest. She is on the ground, but the only blood on her is what has smeared over from Daisy, ensnared in her arms, and even that isn’t very much. Martin thinks it’s odd that there isn’t more on both of them. 

There is so much blood.

“ _ Martin! _ You need to check if Jon’s alive!” 

Oh, fuck.  _ Jon.  _

Martin crashes out of his daze and down onto his knees in the mud. Jon is frighteningly still, and Martin begins frantically feeling for a pulse, for a breath, for  _ any  _ sign that Jon is still-- that he’s not--

Jon lets out a groan, and it is the sweetest sound that Martin has ever heard. He finds a pulse a second later, weak and thready against his fingers but unmistakably  _ there,  _ and Martin chokes on a sob before he can stop himself. 

“Martin?” Basira’s voice does not waver, but there is an undercurrent to it that Martin has never heard before, and he realizes that crying is possibly not the most reassuring thing he could be doing at the moment, pulling himself together and wiping away the few tears that have escaped down his cheeks. 

“He’s alive.” One of Martin’s hands is still pressed desperately to Jon’s chest, feeling the slight rise and fall of his breath, the faint beat of his heart, and Martin clings to those small movements beneath his palm, reminding him that Jon is still alive.

It only barely keeps the panic at bay.

Basira closes her eyes, relief obvious on her face, and readjusts her grip on the still snarling Daisy. “Okay. We need to move them, get out of this domain as soon as possible. It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere!” Especially with Jon out of commission, with Daisy practically  _ rabid,  _ with only Basira and  _ Martin,  _ of all people, to protect them. 

“Better than being hunted.” Basira, as always, manages to sound completely sure of herself. “Now, do you know how to dress a wound? We won’t have time to stitch him up properly until we get out of here and I need to take care of Daisy before I do anything else.” Daisy growls at her name, as if to make a point.

“Yeah, the Institute’s first aid training was weirdly comprehensive on animal-- uh, animal-like attacks. I didn’t really get it until we first started hearing Hunt statements, but I guess it--”

“Martin. Just do it.” He shuts up and gets to work. 

Jon’s shirt and vest are shredded right through on his side, and Martin gingerly unbuttons both and peels them off him. His arm is bleeding sluggishly as well, and there’s a few scratches on his face that are probably going to need stitches, but the only thing that’s immediately life threatening are the gashes at the base of his ribs-- three long, awful cuts that have stained his shirt and soaked the ground around him. 

Martin has to hold in a gag at the sight of them, has to tell himself to steady his hands as he starts patching them as well as he can. You’re meant to put plastic over chest wounds, he remembers, something about air flow? So he digs in his coat pockets for the slim volume of Keats that’s tucked there inside a grocery bag to keep it safe. Jon had found him the book at the shops their second week in Scotland, and Martin has carried it around like a security blanket since they left the cabin, and now it’s on the ground, spattered with mud and blood and who-knows-what else, while Martin rips the plastic bag and spreads it taught over Jon’s side. 

It’s really supposed to be taped down, but their first aid kit is buried deep in one of the bags, and so Martin just takes off both their scarves and sets to wrapping them tightly around to hold pressure on the cuts. Jon is still breathing when he’s finished, and the makeshift bandage seems to be doing its job of keeping his blood where it’s supposed to be, and so Martin tries to take a moment to calm himself.

It doesn’t work, not really, not with the sight of Jon still lying in a pool of his own blood in front of him, bare torso and slack-jawed unconscious face far too vulnerable for Martin to handle. He re-buttons Jon’s shirt and vest to give him at least a little modesty, even as shredded as the garments are, stops for a moment to tuck his book back into his jacket in the hopes that it can be salvaged, and then gently scoops Jon into his arms, away from the gore and the grime. 

When he glances up to see if Basira has handled Daisy yet, he nearly drops him back to the ground. Basira has her hands around Daisy’s neck, her legs holding the rest of Daisy’s thrashing body against her until, with Martin watching, the Hunter slowly goes slack.

“What did you  _ do? _ ” Martin nearly shrieks. Jon had only been so badly injured because he insisted that Daisy could be saved, was worth being given a chance, and now Basira had--

“She’s only unconscious. She’ll be fine.” Basira ties Daisy’s hands and feet, shoulders both Martin and Jon’s backpacks, and then hoists her partner into a fireman’s carry atop them that contrasts the way Martin has Jon cradled close to him, but which is somehow still impossibly gentle in the way Martin has only ever seen Basira act around Daisy. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

Something occurs to Martin, then-- “How will we know the right way? We could just end up wandering endlessly in circles!” 

Basira does not look at all concerned by this idea.

“We’ll get out. This is just a place, and all places have to end somewhere.” She smiles at him then, a small thing, tired and as warm as she seems able to manage. “It’s going to be okay, Martin. We’re all still alive.” With that, she turns and confidently starts walking through the forest. 

Martin follows her, trying his best to be gentle with Jon’s awkward, limp form, and trying his best to believe that Basira is right, that they really will be okay.

At least for long enough to get Jon patched up again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jon wakes up with his head in someone’s lap, his hands clasped in sweaty palms, and what feels like fire racing up his side.

He screams, of course. There’s nothing else to do, held down as he is.

“Christ, Martin, can you--”

“Just stop for a second!” The pain lessens slightly, as does the grip on his hands, and through hazy tears of pain he sees Martin’s face appear in his field of vision. “Hey, Jon. You’re alright, we made it out of the Hunt, Basira’s just stitching you up because you aren’t healing quite fast enough. She’s almost done, I promise.”

“Ma-- Mar--” He can’t get the word out, can’t get the strength in his arms to reach up and touch the face above him, but Martin squeezes his hands and bends down to place a kiss to his forehead, endlessly gentle, and it’s nearly enough of a reassurance. 

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.” He nods to someone Jon can’t see-- Basira? And then, “This is going to hurt, but you’re going to be fine. Just hold on to me.”

Jon doesn’t manage a response before the pain sharpens once more, forcing another yell out of him. Martin is murmuring reassurances, but Jon can’t focus on anything he’s saying, and blessedly, he manages to pass out again soon after.

\---

When Jon wakes next, he is still in pain, but it is the familiar old ache of healing wounds rather than the debilitating sharpness of before. His head is still pillowed in someone’s lap, and this time he is aware enough to recognize the hand carding through his hair before he even opens his eyes. 

It takes him a few more minutes of that half-awakeness to register that the sounds he’s hearing make up a conversation, and a few minutes after that to actually focus on the words, but when he does he realizes Martin is talking to someone.

“--excited to find you, you know.”

“Yeah, that definitely makes me feel all better about it.” Is that-- 

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean that in a ‘you really messed up kind of way’, you couldn’t help it, I know Basira’s already had  _ that  _ conversation with you. I just mean-- we all knew the risks, coming to find you. We had  _ hoped  _ that it wouldn’t be this bad, but-- he’s not going to hate you for this, Daisy.” 

_ Daisy.  _ It was really her, then, alive and aware enough of herself to be holding an actual conversation.

“At this point I’d settle for him not wanting to kill me.”

“I’ve found that revenge killing isn’t all that satisfying, actually.” Jon’s voice is croaky, but he gets the words out. 

“ _ Jon! _ ” He blinks his eyes open to see Martin’s face hovering above him once more. “You’re awake!”

“Apparently so.” He turns his head to the side, not wanting to move much more than that, casting his eyes about for his friend. “Where’s Daisy?” She slides over into his view, an awkward scoot across the ground that is hilariously, achingly human, and he can’t help the grin that splits his face, even as he feels it tug on one of the scratches across his cheek. “You’re  _ okay.” _

“I’m me again, at least.” As if that wasn’t some of the best news Jon had received the whole bloody apocalypse. 

“How’re you feeling, Jon? Are you in any pain?” Martin interjects.

“I’m fine. Nothing hurts in a way I can’t handle, and I’m obviously not dead, and if I’m awake enough to be talking I’m pretty sure the Eye will keep me that way.” Martin huffs a laugh, but still looks visibly concerned, so Jon gropes for the hand not in his hair and squeezes it tightly. “Really, I’m alright. I promise.” He glances back and forth between Martin and Daisy, “are the rest of you okay?”

“You were the only one I hurt.” Daisy’s voice is flat, but Jon still feels a rush of relief at her words.

“Thank god for that.” Martin’s hand stutters slightly in his hair, but doesn’t stop stroking. Jon knows they’ll probably end up having a chat about self-preservation later, but that’s alright. “How did you get free of the Hunt?”

“Basira knocked me out, Martin bandaged you up a bit and they carried us out of the domain. I woke up when we got past the boundary and I was just-- me, again.”

“I’m glad you’re alright.” Daisy’s face does something odd.

“Is that really all you have to say?” It is, but something tells Jon that’s the wrong answer. “I almost  _ killed you,  _ and you’re what, fine with it?”

“Well, it isn’t exactly the first time.” Martin’s admonishing  _ Jon!  _ and Daisy’s scowl make it clear that this isn’t the best time for jokes. “Okay, I don’t know that I’m simply  _ fine  _ with it, but I-- ugh, Martin, can you help me sit up? This is an awkward conversation to have from this position.”

“I don’t want you to rip your stitches.”

“Martin--”

“Martin, lie down.” Daisy is balling up her jacket and scooting closer to them, and Martin has apparently reached a point where he doesn’t have the energy to argue when people tell him to do things, because he lays in the dirt almost instantly. Jon is confused until Daisy joins them, laying on her back with her head near Jon’s. It’s a position they used to end up in semi-regularly, those last few months in the Archives, as Jon effectively starving himself abstaining from taking statements and Daisy fighting the Hunt often left one or both of them too exhausted to sit up and hold a proper conversation, but still benefiting from the comfort of another person nearby. 

Jon takes a breath once they’re all settled. “Okay. So. Am I happy that this happened? No. But I Knew it was a possibility when we found you, and I was willing to risk it for a chance of getting you back.”

“But I--”

“Would you attack me like that now?”

“No!”

“Then I forgive you.” Simple, and true. “It wasn’t you, Daisy.”

She is quiet, clearly unwilling to accept it, but not so much that she’s going to keep arguing with him. Jon will take that, for now, and work on enforcing it later. He had been reasonably sure, going in, that she wouldn’t be able to actually kill him, Archivist that he was, and anything up until that was just pain. Not fun, clearly, but survivable, and certainly a price he was willing to pay again if it meant saving another of his friends from at least part of what he had set in motion.

The end of this quest would, hopefully, save everyone, but in the meantime, he would take what he could get, even if he got hurt along the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave kudos/comments/hit me up on Tumblr @it-is-the-hannah   
> And again, go check out the amazing fanart this was based on! This second chapter might have made things a little less angsty than the art was originally intended to be but it is an absolutely Fanastic artwork!


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